Chapter 3

The Maybach Zeppelin merged smoothly into the heavy traffic on Fifth Avenue, its double-paned bulletproof glass sealing out the Manhattan wind and rain.

Janell shrank into the corner by the door. Dirty rainwater dripped from her shredded wedding dress, leaving a dark stain on the wool floor mat. She bit her pale lip and dug her nails into the calluses of her palm, keeping her back pressed against the cold door panel. She didn't look at the man beside her. She couldn't. From the moment she had tumbled onto the carpet, she had felt it—the cold, heavy weight of importance that hung around him, the kind of presence that made her feel like she was shrinking by the second. The car alone was worth more than everything she owned. She fixed her eyes on her own bare, freezing toes instead.

Fulton scrolled through a tablet with one hand. The screen's pale glow lit his sharp jawline, his expression indifferent as he reviewed after-hours Wall Street trading data.

The car radio interrupted its music with a breaking news alert.

"At eight o'clock tonight, a major scandal erupted at the wedding of Scott Industries and the Alvarado Group when an explicit infidelity video of the groom played live..."

In the front passenger seat, Harley pushed up his titanium glasses and glanced cautiously into the rearview mirror.

"Boss, where should we drop this lady?"

Janell curled her freezing toes against the mat and spoke in a raspy voice, still not lifting her head.

"Any intersection is fine. Thank you for saving me tonight, sir. Sorry for the trouble."

Fulton didn't look up from the financial charts on his tablet.

"Next corner."

Suddenly, the dashboard screen switched to a live broadcast from the Rockefeller Center ballroom.

Richard stood before dozens of financial press microphones, his face dark and rigid. Kandace held his arm, dabbing dry eyes with a tissue as she sighed into the cameras.

"Janell has been extreme since she was a child. We never imagined she would do something like this to ruin both families' reputations..."

Behind her, Aubrie huddled pitifully, drawing sympathetic murmurs from the reporters.

Richard cleared his throat and stared straight into the main camera lens.

"Effective immediately, the Scott family strips Janell of all trust beneficiary rights and permanently severs all father-daughter ties!"

Camera flashes popped frantically on screen beneath the banner headline: Disgraced Heiress Thrown Out Penniless.

Janell stared at the small screen, still without looking at the man beside her. Her stomach twisted into a violent knot, a wave of nausea rising in her throat as her fingernails broke the skin of her palm. Everything her late mother had built and left for her had just been swallowed whole by her cold-blooded father and that scheming pair.

Silence hung in the cabin over the low hum of the heater.

Fulton finally turned his head. His gray-blue eyes swept over her pale profile and dropped to the bright red blood smeared across her wrist.

He reached into his inner suit pocket, pulled out a neatly folded dark gray silk handkerchief, and tossed it onto the leather seat between them.

"Wipe it. Don't get blood on my door handle."

Looking at the expensive silk without touching it, Janell felt as if a bucket of ice water had been poured over her head. She didn't dare look up at the man who had tossed it. Instead, she yanked up a dry piece of her torn wedding dress lining and roughly scrubbed the blood off her skin.

"No need to trouble yourself, sir. Expensive things like that don't suit me."

Fulton raised an eyebrow and let out a cold snort through his nose, saying nothing more.

The Maybach cruised downtown and turned onto a dark cobblestone street in the Meatpacking District. Up ahead, neon lights reflected off wet pavement outside Noir, the most exclusive private members' club in New York. Tall doormen in black uniforms stood beneath the awning, opening doors for arriving supercars.

The driver eased the brakes, pulling the Maybach into a shadowy side lane beside the club.

Harley turned his head slightly.

"Miss, it's easy to hail a cab down here. You can get out now."

Janell took a deep breath and pushed the heavy door open, letting the cold rain hit her face. She still had not looked at the man beside her, not once.

Just as she swung her bare legs out, Fulton spoke from the back seat.

"Running into a nightclub in a torn wedding dress is not a smart way to get revenge."

Janell paused, her back still to him, and laughed—a short, self-mocking sound.

"Revenge?" She shook her head. "This has nothing to do with revenge. I just want a drink."

"I just don't want to be alone tonight." Her voice was light, but with no warmth in it. "Right now I just want to find some loud place, sit down, and drink until I can't hear my father's voice on that broadcast anymore. At least at the bottom of a bottle, nobody cares what I'm wearing. Including me."

She stepped out without ever turning her head, then slammed the car door shut and walked barefoot across the freezing cobblestones toward Noir's heavy black bronze doors.

Inside the car, Fulton watched her slender, straight back disappear into the rain mist, his long fingers tapping slowly against his knee.

Harley wiped sweat from his neck and asked quietly.

"Boss, for the private board dinner in Suite 308 on the top floor tonight, should I tell the investment bank representatives to go in early?"

Fulton withdrew his gaze, his eyes turning cold once more.

"Proceed as scheduled."